


Sweet Melody for Mother

by overthemoon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Kidlock, kid!Sherlock, violin, wee!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overthemoon/pseuds/overthemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock practices his Violin while Mother watches.</p>
<p>Sherlock plays a screechy noise deliberately, just to see what Mother will do.  Mummy frowns at him, and Sherlock sighs, going back to plucking out boring normal notes.</p>
<p>“How long will that take?”  he asks.  He messes up on a note and accidentally makes a screeching noise again.  Mother presses her lips together.  Sherlock rolls his eyes and starts the scale over from the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Melody for Mother

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, no britpick. Written for my follower giveaway. 
> 
> [exornatus](http://exornatus.tumblr.com) Requested: Could you write me fluff? I don’t really ship Johnlock, I have an obsession with Sherlock’s violin and I love pretty much any kind of fanfic :) Thank you!!!! xxxxxxx
> 
> I hope you like it!

The most frustrating thing about music lessons is that the violin he uses to practice is bigger than his face. Sherlock frowns as he carefully draws the bow across the strings, coaxing slow creaking scales from the instrument. He bites his lip and adjusts his fingers on the bridge; his hands are just barely long enough to reach all the chord locations that have been carefully marked out in chalk.

“Gently now,” Mother says. Sherlock frowns and tries again, using less pressure to drag the bow. Mother smiles at him. “That’s a good boy, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighs and pouts. He’s seven years old now; he doesn’t need praise from Mummy like he’s a normal idiot. He peeks up at Mother from underneath his big black curls. “When can I do things other than scales, Mummy?” He tries not to hate scales, but they’re so _boring._ Scales aren’t nearly as exciting as the leaping serenades he hears on the Classical Radio station or the soaring melodies from the soloist at the opera house.

“When you’ve mastered your scales, Sherlock,” she says, giving him a firm smile. “You can’t learn to play complex melodies when you don’t yet know all the notes.”

Sherlock plays a screechy noise deliberately, just to see what Mother will do. Mummy frowns at him, and Sherlock sighs, going back to plucking out boring normal notes.

“How long will that take?” he asks. He messes up on a note and accidentally makes a screeching noise again. Mother presses her lips together. Sherlock rolls his eyes and starts the scale over from the beginning.

“That,” she says, “depends entirely on how hard you work to master your skills. Master violinists don’t just spring up out of nowhere, you know.” Mother folds her hands in her lap and crosses her legs. She tilts her head, their favorite flowery hat exaggerating the angle of the tilt.

“I _know_ ,” whines Sherlock. “It takes so long though.” It’s been a month and he’s still marching the stupid notes through boring scales over and over again. If his skill continues to progress at this rate, he’ll never be able to play better than Mycroft. “Why can’t I learn this faster? Father said we’re geniuses, so this shouldn’t be so slow.”

Mother leans over and uses her soft hands to adjust his posture. “Genius is more than just brains, my dear,” she says. “You must be willing to work hard for every ounce of genius you’ve got.” She smooths the fabric of her new blue dress..

Sherlock wrinkles his nose. Mother is wearing a perfume he doesn’t recognize and it makes him want to sneeze. “Why?”

“Because that’s how the world works, dear heart,” she says. She stands up. “I’m going out for a while, but if you’ve been a good boy, I’ll ask the housekeeper to save the sheep’s heart for you, and we can do some dissections later, all right?”

“Where are you going?” Sherlock blinks in confusion. He stops playing; the juvenille notes vanish from the air.

She smiles him, warm sun and love beaming from her facial expression. “Just down the road for a chat.” She raises a challenging eyebrow at Sherlock. “Surely you don’t need me to correct you-”

Sherlock scowls and stiffens his posture, resuming his scales. Maybe if he practices twice as long today, next week he can play the Mendelssohn sheet music Father keeps on the second shelf in the library.

“All right,” he says. He closes his eyes. Maybe he can pretend the music is a secret room for him to hide in, to sort through and keep the tiny puzzle pieces that he hasn’t figured out where they fit.

“I love you.” Mother leans down and kisses him on the forehead. Sherlock resists the urge to shake his head. He’s not a baby anymore! “I’ll see you soon.” Sherlock opens his eyes and gives her a shy smile.

Mother slips out, closing the library door behind her. Sherlock closes his eyes again. The notes swirl in his hearing as he tries to get lost treading through his scales.

_Soon_ , he promises himself. _I will be good enough soon._

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you thought, even if it turns out to be keyboardsmashing or stuff that you think is way to obvious. I love hearing from you guys.


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